Save Our Souls
by The Lilac Elf of Lothlorien
Summary: On September 11th, 2001, the Winchesters find their lives dramatically changed. 10 years later, they return to Ground Zero to save the lives of the survivors. Limp!Sam & Limp!Dean.
1. Chapter 1

AUTHOR'S NOTES: With the 10th anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks, I wanted to do a story with Sam and Dean and what might have happened had they been at Ground Zero that day.

Needless to say, this is highly AU. Therefore: no Apocalypse, John is alive, Azazel and Lilith are toast, the brothers are still as close as ever, and Crowley maybe has a shred of decency left in his after all.

I hope you guys like this. This story had been in my head for a couple weeks now and I figured I should just go ahead and do it up.

STORY SUMMARY: Having been injured helping out during the WTC attacks during 9/11, Sam and Dean's lives changed dramatically. But that won't stop them when they find out that the hundreds of people who made crossroads deals that day are about to die unless they can stop it.

* * *

><p>SUPERNATURAL: Save Our Souls<p>

* * *

><p><em>September 11<em>_th__, 2001_

It was the first time Dean Winchester could remember that he, his father—John—and his brother—Sam—had quit right in the middle of a hunt.

Sitting in the '67 Chevy Impala that had been the closest thing the Winchesters had to a home for the past 18 years, Sam and Dean just listened to the reports on the radio.

And suddenly, John Winchester had done a 180 turn and burned rubber heading towards New York City.

xx

They hadn't been the only hunters who had showed up. It seemed like every hunter in New York and surrounding states had come down to do whatever they could to help. Mostly, that help consisted of attending to survivors or getting names of who might have been in the Twin Towers when they'd collapsed.

Not that New York was the only attack. It was only a matter of hours before it seemed like every hunter had made a beeline for whichever attack they'd been closest to.

It was probably the first time that any hunter had been able to help and had actually been thanked for it.

xxxxxxxx

As busy as the hunters were, the demons found themselves equally busy. Every demon that was topside was provisionally recruited as a crossroads demon to keep up with the growing demand. Even the proper summoning rituals were forgone temporarily.

At the end of the week, 1,703 deals would be made and sealed—the largest number in any given timeframe ever.

* * *

><p>Dean had heard the sounds of someone crying for help as he helped a young woman out from the wreckage of the South Tower. Making sure the girl was safely in the hands of the paramedics, he ignored their warnings to get back and instead started climbing back to where the sound was loudest. Looking up as he heard someone call his name, he saw Sam trying to get to him.<p>

"Sammy, help me!" Dean called, as he saw an arm sticking out from underneath a pile of rubble.

Sam went to his brother and they quickly moved the rubble to free the young female firefighter who was thankfully still alive. "You're okay," Sam assured her as he and Dean carefully pulled her out. "You'll be okay."

But just as Dean got the woman to safety, he set her down quickly outside the main wreckage when he heard Sam cry out in pain. "Sammy!" he called, panic thick in his voice. Without even thinking, he went as fast as he could to where he'd last seen Sam. But when his foot caught a patch of loose rubble, Dean went down hard, screaming himself as he felt a horrible crushing pain in his legs as a slab of concrete wall landed on his lower body.

xxxxx

John Winchester felt his legs turn to rubber as he overheard the 23-year-old firefighter tell the paramedics about the young man who had saved her. The girl was maybe only a year older than Dean, and Dean had managed to rescue her without any thought to his own safety.

And right then and there, John had an epiphany. His sons were running headlong into danger because that's what he'd taught them to do. But this time, it wasn't a ghost or monster that was the threat, but humans. He'd trained his boys to hunt evil and save people, regardless of the danger involved and today Sam and Dean were in a situation that was entirely non-supernatural and they still barreled ahead.

In that moment, John couldn't be prouder of his sons and the men they'd grown up to be.

But hearing Dean's sudden screams, he couldn't remember ever feeling more terrified in his life—even including the night Mary died in the fire.

xxxxx

All Sam could remember after the ceiling collapsed on him was pain. It seemed to radiate through his whole body and as his brain blocked out all other thought, the only thing he could think about was that he was going to die in this wrecked building. Before he lost consciousness, he could have sworn he heard his father's voice calling for him.

* * *

><p>The emergency room was standing room only, although John didn't think he could have sat even if he could have. He'd started pacing and hadn't stopped because the few moments he did, a thousand worst-case scenarios flooded his brain.<p>

"Excuse me?"

John stopped and found himself facing a couple about his age looking at him. "Yeah?" he asked, not sure what the two wanted.

"Sir, my name is Victor Anderson," the man said before gesturing to his wife. "This is my wife, Gillian. We heard your sons were the ones who pulled our daughter out. She's a volunteer firefighter."

John nodded, remembering the girl briefly. "Yeah, that was Dean and Sam," he confirmed.

"We wanted to thank them," Gillian said with a grateful look. "Meg is our only child. I can't imagine what could have happened if your son hadn't found her."

Reality slammed John like a load of bricks and he said, "Sam got caught in some falling debris. Dean got hurt trying to rescue him."

Gillian looked horrified and put a hand on John's arm as she replied, "I'm so sorry." She gently squeezed the arm of the man who'd saved her daughter and added, "I really hope your boys will be okay."

"Me, too," John said, quietly, accepting a cup of coffee from an older woman carrying around a tray of insulated cups.

* * *

><p>Dean groaned as he finally started waking up. Outside, it was dark and he wondered how long he'd been out of it. Looking around at the hospital room, he blinked in surprise when he saw that Sam was in the bed next to his. And in between, head lulled to the side, was Dad, snoring softly.<p>

Looking at his younger brother, Dean saw that Sam was wearing a back brace and seemed to still be unconscious. "Sammy?" he said, tentatively.

Sam didn't wake, but John did and he looked at his eldest son with a mix of pain and relief. "Dean," John said, looking at him.

"Dad?" Dean said, not liking how dour his father's mood was. He tried to sit up, but the pain in his lower body almost made his scream. It was then that he looked down and saw that while left leg was in a cast almost up to his hip, his right leg was just gone about two thirds up his thigh. He shot a horrified look at his father as he asked, "How bad?"

John looked down at his hands and said, "Dean, I—"

"Dad, just tell me!" Dean demanded, sharply. "How bad?" Running a hand over his face when his father refused to answer, Dean let out a deep sigh and said, "I screwed up, Dad."

"Don't ever say that," John said, sharply, looking up at his son. He stood and helped Dean sit up a bit before retaking his chair and making sure his oldest son was looking at him before he went on. "Now you listen to me, Dean. You did _not_ screw up. You did nothing wrong and watching what you did out there? I have never been prouder to be your father."

"You mean that?" Dean said, more than a bit surprised. He'd never heard his father talking like this before.

"Yeah," John replied with a warm smile. Looking over at Sam, he said, "Did you know Sammy got into Stanford? Full scholarship, too."

Dean looked surprised at that and turned to look at his sleeping brother. His little brother got into one of the best colleges in the country? And the college would pay for him to go? "We gotta let him go, Dad," Dean said, resolvedly. He didn't want to leave his brother alone. Not with all the scary crap out there. Besides… how bad had Sam been hurt, anyway? Sam had obviously hurt his back—what if the injuries were permanent? But at the same time, Dean knew that chances like this didn't come around all the time.

John nodded, knowing that Dean was right. Besides… for some reason, hunting didn't seem as important anymore for some reason. "Well, we still got time before Sam needs to be there."

"How bad was Sam hurt?" Dean asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

John sighed and rubbed his face with one hand—a habit that he'd noticed that Dean had picked up years ago. "Sam broke his back. Docs say it could be worse. He's still got some sensation in his legs, but… But he can't move 'em."

Dean lay back with a deep sigh as he looked down at his own legs. "This sucks, Dad."

"Yeah," John agreed. "Yeah, it really does."

* * *

><p>The world had changed for the Winchesters in the past four years.<p>

Confronted by his sons' disabilities, John had quit hunting full time and when it had come time for Sam to graduate high school and go off to college, he and Dean had moved to California with Sam.

They'd found a one-story house just a few blocks from the Stanford campus and John had taken a security job at the college so that Sam and Dean could have decent health insurance for once. That, and so he could keep an eye on his youngest son.

Late at night, though, when he got home from work, John still kept his eyes and ears open for the monster that had killed his wife, Mary. He believed it was a demon now and he spent every possible moment combing through reports for signs that the thing was on the move. But he wouldn't go after the demon—not yet. Not until he knew that the bastard wouldn't be able to get away.

For Sam, the only sign that he had been getting any better during the past four years was that he could kind of… sort of… move his legs a bit. If he had something to hold onto, he could stand for almost 10 seconds before his legs gave out and he'd fall to the ground.

Between classes, homework, and physical therapy, Sam hadn't really had time to date while at college—something Dean teased him about relentlessly—but coming out of a PT session at the local healt center one night, he'd almost run into a beautiful blonde with the sweetest smile he'd ever seen. As the two sat in the coffee shop around the corner, Sam found himself falling head over heels for Jessica Moore.

Of course, just because he had a girlfriend and a normal life, it didn't make things easier for him. In fact, Sam often felt like a loaner because he couldn't walk. Even when he was with his study groups, he felt like he was always being included out of pity.

The only upside was Jess. Sam had never had a girlfriend before and the more he was with her, the harder he worked both at school and PT. Of course, Jessica had told him over and over that she would have liked him even if he wasn't in a wheelchair.

While his father had back-burnered hunting in favor of working an honest job for Sam's sake, Dean had gone in the opposite direction. A year after 9/11, Dean was back to as close to 100% as he could be. Sure, his left knee hurt like a son of a bitch if he drove for too long at one time and he'd only just started getting used to going longer amounts of time with the prosthetic leg, but Dean knew that there were monsters still out there and if his father wasn't going to fight them anymore, then he had to.

* * *

><p>On a cool November night, Dean found himself sitting in the Impala with his father, looking at the apartment Sam had been sharing with Jessica for the past year. The night was calm and there wasn't even the slightest indication something was amiss.<p>

Which is why Dean had started to ignore the looks he was getting from his father. "Look, you said you noticed certain signs or whatever," Dean pressed, eyes fixed on the apartment windows. "And that they were centered around here."

"Dean, this stuff isn't an exact science," John argued. "I mean, I could have been—"

But both Winchesters were out of the car and racing towards the building when they saw the building lights start to flicker violently.

Dean was only slightly slower than his father, his panic pushing him along. After John broke the door down, he and Dean hurried inside just as they heard Sam's scream of "Jess! No!"

There was an explosion and John and Dean bolted for the bedroom door when they smelled smoke.

The bedroom was on fire and Sam was lying on the floor, his eyes fixed on the ceiling where Jessica's bleeding body was pinned. "Jess!" he cried, tears falling down his face.

"Sammy!" Dean said, not giving another thought to his own safety as he dashed forward, grabbing his brother's arm and hauling him to his feet, hurrying out of the apartment and down the stairs as the smoke poured out into the hallway.

Everyone else in the building was evacuating as well and it was a few moments before the sounds of sirens could be heard over the panicked shouts.

Outside, Dean got Sam over to the Impala and opened up the rear passenger door with his free hand before getting his brother sitting down. "Sammy?" Dean asked, hesitantly.

"She's dead…" Sam said, quietly, tears still streaming down his face. "She's dead, Dean. Jess is dead."

Dean crouched down as best he could and looked his brother in the face, waiting until Sam's eyes met his. "It's going to be okay, Sammy. Okay? I promise."

Sam nodded numbly, not even really registering Dean's words. But something inside him was waking up and becoming angry. He wanted to find what had killed the girl he loved. He wanted to find it and he wanted it dead. Looking over Dean's shoulder, he was surprised to see the look on his father's face.

It was the look John Winchester had when he'd done something he didn't want to talk about. In John's hand was a very old, antique Colt revolver. "Let's go home," John said, quickly, going to get behind the wheel of the Impala. Once Sam and Dean were in and the doors were closed, he headed straight for the house and pulled into the driveway.

"We need to go, Dad," Sam said, still looking straight ahead. "We've got to find the thing that killed Jess."

"Let's just get inside first," John replied before getting out of the car and going to the garage where he'd stashed the old hospital-grade wheelchair Sam had first used after being released. After John and Dean had helped Sam inside, he grabbed two beers for himself and Dean and a soda for Sam. Once they all had their drinks and were sitting down, John looked at Sam. "It was a demon that killed Jessica," he said, simply. When Sam sat up a bit more, he held out a hand to stop his son from going anywhere. "I already killed it. That's why I was still in the building. It's done."

"You killed it?" Dean said, doubtfully. "After all this time, you just…?" he mimed firing a gun.

John gave a soft laugh. Leave it to Dean to be skeptical. He handed over the Colt and said, "Made by Samuel Colt for a hunter about 150 years ago. They say it can kill anything."

"Like the demon that killed Mom and Jessica," Dean filled in, studying the gun. Looking up at his father, he asked, "So it's over?"

"It's not over," Sam spoke up. When his father and brother looked at him, he sighed. "I'm sorry, Dad. You came out here to help me, you stopped hunting all the time… You and Dean have done everything for me and I'm throwing it in your faces."

"Dude, you're saying what, exactly?" Dean said, calmly. He knew full well what Sam was trying to get at but wanted to hear the words from his brother's own mouth.

Sam gave Dean a 'You know what I'm saying' look as he said, "We're hunters. It's what we do. There's no use in trying to pretend otherwise."

Dean looked at his father and shrugged. "You heard him, Dad. This is what he wants."

"Okay," John said, nodding. "Then let's do it."


	2. Chapter 2

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'd just like to say that of all the Supernatural characters, Crowley is my favorite to write.

One of the reasons I feel affected by 9/11 is that I was alone when I first heard about it. It was my first year at college and I was far away from my family and I didn't have any real friends at the time. I still find it ironic that the worst domestic attack in history happened while I was in history class.

* * *

><p>Chapter 2<p>

_September 4__th__, 2011_

It was rare that Dean found himself at a loss for words.

But as he stood in New York City, looking at Ground Zero, he couldn't think of what to say. Beside him, John and Sam also stared out at the empty space. Most of the rubble had been cleared, but some still remained. And even though he tried not to think about what had happened there 10 years ago, the reminders were painfully obvious.

Back at the hotel, Dean got settled on one of the beds in the room he was sharing with Sam before pulling off his boots and jeans so that he was sitting in his shirt and boxer shorts. While Sam logged onto his computer, he kept an eye on Dean who was removing the prosthetic leg he'd been using for just shy of a decade.

"I can hear you brooding over there, Sammy," Dean said as he put the leg aside and turned to look at his brother. "You okay?"

Sam shrugged. "Guess I never thought we'd be here again." It had taken him a long time to accept that he was never going to have a full recovery. But thinking about some of the other people who had been injured in 9/11, he supposed he was lucky. He still couldn't walk more than a few feet, but it was better than when he'd first gotten out of the hospital and hadn't been able to move his legs at all.

Glancing over at Dean who was lying on his bed with his own computer, Sam tried not to stare at what was left of his brother's right leg, or at the support brace he wore on his knee for the longer hunts and car rides. After seeing how badly Dean had been hurt, Sam had expected him to raise a fuss. But Dean's concern had been Sam and getting him ready for Stanford.

"I don't know how we're going to pull this off, man," Dean said suddenly, slamming his laptop shut in frustration. "How are we going to stop all those deals in a week?" Thinking for a while, he said, "We gotta find the demon that holds the contracts. Use the Colt, maybe?"

"Okay," Sam replied, thoughtfully. "But how do we find him?" He heard knocking on the door and straightened up, waiting until he heard—

"It's me," John said, quickly.

Sam wheeled over to the hotel room door and opened it, revealing his dad standing there with two pizzas and a pair of six packs. "Hey, Dad."

John entered the room and set dinner down on the table next to Sam's computer. "Any luck figuring out a plan?" he asked, hopefully as he opened up the first box and grabbed a slice of pizza.

"We got nothin'," Dean replied, gloomily as he set his laptop aside and moved over to the other side of the bed so he could get at the pizza and beer.

"I don't like the sound of that," John said, frowning as he pulled out a beer and twisted the cap off.

"Oh. Okay," Dean said before adapting an overly cheerful tone. "We've got nothing!" he repeated, earning himself a smack to the back of the head from his father.

"Look, Dad, seriously," Sam interjected. "How are we supposed to save 1,700 people all at the same time? And they're not all going to be here this week anyway."

"Wait a second," Dean said, thinking. "Remember when that case about 4 years ago? 6 people made deals with the same demon."

Sam nodded, remembering the case. "Yeah, they all said that the demon had an accent or something."

"Okay," John said, wearily as he rubbed his face with one hand. "So how do we find this demon?"

"Well, you could try just letting him in," an English accented voice said from the open doorway.

All three Winchesters drew weapons and aimed them at the demons standing there. "Who the hell are you?" Dean demanded, aiming his favorite 1911 Colt at the demon's heart.

"'Hell' being the operative word," the demon replied. "The name's Crowley. And if you'd be so kind as to let me in for a spell, we need to talk."

"So talk," John said, calmly, as he aimed the Colt at Crowley.

Crowley frowned and let out a deep sigh. "Fine. It concerns you, your sons, and _the end of the soddin' world_!"

John wasn't sure what this demon was up to, but he didn't want the hellspawn to call any more attention. Looking at Sam who was still parked by the door, he nodded once.

Sam wheeled forward and bent over, using the tip of his sawed-off shotgun to break the salt line. Setting the gun in his lap, he wheeled back to let Crowley in before closing the door behind him. "What do you mean 'the end of the world'?"

Crowley sighed again as he looked at the three Winchesters. "First of all, the three of you were never supposed to be at Ground Zero in the first place. That one event changed a world of things and not just for you." Pulling a bottle of scotch out from nowhere, he went to the kitchenette and pulled out a glass before pouring himself two fingers of the amber liquid. "You see, in the grand scheme of things either Dean or John were supposed to break the first of 66 Seals which would eventually free Lucifer from Hell. Sam was supposed to be Lucifer's vessel and destroy the world unless Archangel Michael—played by Dean, of course—killed him."

"So what changed?" John asked, curiously. It wasn't in his nature to trust demons—they had the habit of lying to save their sorry asses—but Crowley didn't seem the type to tell tales.

"A pair of angels," Crowley said, annoyance in his voice. "—that go by the names of Castiel and Balthazar." Rolling their eyes, he added, "They decided to abort the Apocalypse. Put an extra heavy-duty lock on Lucifer's cage. So far, all attempts to breach it have failed."

"So let's get to the part where you tell us about the deals," Sam interrupted. They could talk about how the end of the world was stopped _after_ they saved 1,700 people.

Crowley sipped his scotch and set the glass down on the counter before walking towards the Winchesters. "Here's the deal, boys," he said, finally. "The angels I mentioned want to go back in time and prevent 9/11 from happening."

"Wait, they can do that?" Dean said, quickly, as he looked at Sam. If the Twin Towers hadn't been hit, then Sam would never have been hurt. Dean would have both legs, and… But thinking about what Crowley had said before, he stopped and said, "Wait, if these angels undo things… does that mean that Sam and I…?"

"And I think he's got it," Crowley said with a snarky smile. The smile vanished, however, as he went on. "Now… as I said, the angels want to undo the worst terrorist attack in American history. Which would screw the world over royally, including yours truly. So… In the spirit of altruism—and considering I'd rather a quick and painless death to what the angels have in mind—I come with a white flag. Namely… myself."

The Winchesters exchanged looks as they considered the proposition. On the surface, there was, of course, nothing to think about. The deals would never be made if the angels had their way, but on the other hand, who knew how many people would die if the Apocalypse got underway?

Of course, if they just killed Crowley that would save all the people who made deals and not just those affected by the terrorist attacks—every contract the demon held would be broken.

"I can see you need a moment," Crowley said, heading for the door. "I'll be back in 24 hours." And with that, he left the hotel room and vanished.

For a while, the Winchesters said nothing as they thought about the choices before them.

Finally, Sam looked at his dad and his brother and said, "I, uh… I need to…" Before his family could ask, Sam headed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Dean let out a deep sigh before putting the safety back on his gun and putting it back under his pillow. Feeling his father staring at him, he looked away as he carefully stood, balancing on his remaining leg. He hopped over to the table and managed to get seated without falling flat on his face. After grabbing another beer and another piece of pizza, he went onto Sam's computer, still ignoring his dad.

"Dean," John said as he sat across from his son and pulled the laptop away, setting it on Dean's bed. "Talk to me, kid."

"I hate this, Dad," Dean said, angrily. "I mean, I…" He looked away for a moment and as he faced his father, he ran a hand over his face. "The idea of Sam being out of that damn wheelchair… I'd do _anything_ if it could help him."

"And you think I don't feel the same?" John said, feeling a touch hurt. "Dean, I'd love nothing more than for you and Sam to be happy… For you to have full use of _both_ legs and for Sam to be able to walk on his own again." He sighed and went on. "But we've got to think about the big picture, Dean. You know that."

"I know, Dad," Dean sighed, wearily, as he repeated the face-rubbing gesture he'd picked up from his father. He used the back of his chair for support as he stood. Going to his bed, he pulled back the covers and laid down before closing his eyes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The bar in the hotel lobby was quiet as Sam sipped his beer. He didn't look at the TV in the corner, even though he noticed that the people still sitting at the bar were. He knew what the latest news was and didn't need the reminder.

He knew what choice Dean would make. He'd heard the promise for so long. _"If it's the last thing I do, I'll get you walking again, Sammy."_ But Sam hadn't put too much stock into the words after a while. He knew the odds of recovery from spinal injuries and he knew that the chances of him walking again decreased the more time went by.

Sam remembered the first month in the hospital with his brother. He'd started slipping into depression, of course, but Dean had very quickly yanked him out of it. His big brother had never let up in pushing Sam with his physical therapy and once he'd started his own, Dean had started chomping at the bit to get walking on the crutches and then to get the prosthetic. All so he could be there to help his little brother.

"Got two of those?"

Sam looked up as his father sat down opposite him and signaled the bartender for a second beer. Looking at his dad, he asked, "So what's the verdict?"

John waited until his beer arrived before speaking. "After the paramedics took you and Dean to the hospital that day, I was digging in your bag. I forget what I'd originally been looking for, but I remember finding the acceptance letter from Stanford." He took a swig of his drink and went on, surprised that Sam wasn't butting in with one explanation or another. "All I could think about was how could you not tell me? How could you plan to walk out on your family?"

"Dad, it wasn't like that," Sam insisted. "I just… I wanted my own life for once."

"I don't think I ever told you how proud I was of you for getting that scholarship," John said, honestly. "I just couldn't believe that you did that all on your own." He was quiet for another moment as he tried to think of the best way to say what he was thinking. "Sam, if I could change things—change what happened to you and Dean—I wouldn't. The three of us have been closer in the past 10 years than we ever were before. And I wouldn't give that up for anything."

* * *

><p>Bryan Norton slowly opened the door to his daughter's bedroom, looking at the sleeping child. 10 years ago, he'd made a deal to save his pregnant wife in exchange for his soul. His wife had been 3 months along when she'd gone into work at the North Tower and she'd been trapped when the building had started to collapse. All Bryan wanted in the moment that he saw the news at his office across town was for his wife and unborn child to be safe.<p>

And then the woman appeared before his desk, claiming that she could guarantee his family's safety in exchange for his soul in 10 years.

He didn't even have to think about it.

But thinking back on it now, Bryan felt his heart break as he realized that he'd never see his little girl grow up.

* * *

><p>10 years and Gail Anderson would never forget the names of the two young men who'd saved her life.<p>

She'd only been a volunteer firefighter for 3 months, but when the reports started coming in about the plane crashing into the North Tower, she'd gone to help. It was her job and she knew that she'd be needed.

The going had been slow, but she'd never complained and never slowed down. Until she'd gotten caught in a ceiling collapse.

Gail had though she was dead—just another death statistic.

And then Sam and Dean Winchester had come along and pulled her out. They hadn't been firefighters or paramedics or even military. They'd just been two young men who had just shown up out of the blue to help.

Gail hoped the boys would be at the memorial dedication. She hadn't been able to tell Sam and Dean before that she owed them her life. But they deserved to know.

* * *

><p>As the hours ticked by, Crowley stood next to the 911 Memorial, a glass of craig Scotch in his hand.

Hundreds of years in Hell had hardened him into a demon, but he liked to believe that he wasn't as heartless as some demons.

In fact, Crowley was one of few demons who could still see humans as something other than pathetic, weak meat suits.

When confronted by the greatest attack in the history of the United States, people came to help with no thought as to their own personal well-being. That kind of selflessness was something to be admired.

There was the faint sound of wings and Crowley glanced to his left to see Balthazar standing there. "What are you doing here?" the angel asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"The average number of deals on any given day is only about 300, believe it or not," Crowley replied. Turning to give Balthazar his full attention, he sipped his scotch and went on. "10 years ago, a total of 1,824 deals were made less than a week from today." He finished his drink and got rid of the glass before he said, "And I won't be able to collect any of them."

Balthazar looked surprised at that news and frowned slightly. "Going soft, are you?"

"No," Crowley replied, turning and walking away. "If fact… by tonight, I expect I'll be dead."

* * *

><p>The beer had been abandoned for the whiskey.<p>

In John's hotel room, he sat at the table with his sons. Each Winchester had a glass of liquor before them and even though no one was talking, they didn't need to say anything. In the middle of the table, the Colt lay waiting.

Dean looked from his watch to the door and the broken salt line. In a matter of minutes, Crowley would be there for the Winchester's decision and as he looked at his dad and brother, Dean could see the resolve in their faces.

True to his word, Crowley suddenly appeared and Sam, Dean, and John looked at him for only a moment.

Crowley didn't ask what the choice was. He didn't have to.

The bullet from the Colt tearing through his heart was answer enough.

* * *

><p><em>September 11th, 2011<em>

The Impala rumbled to a stop in the last available parking spot early that morning. John looked at the rest of the crowds heading for the memorial dedication before looking at his sons. "You sure about this?" he asked, looking from Dean to Sam.

Dean nodded silently and got out of the car, his father a few steps behind him.

It took Sam a while to get out of the Impala and into his wheelchair, but he refused any help. Today, he needed to do this on his own.

As he followed his dad and brother, and saw the crowds around the memorial, Sam suddenly felt himself transported back in time. He remembered the dust from the rubble, the pain as he lay sprawled, pinned by the broken ceiling and support beams. And then there was the fear. The fear that he would die trapped, that his brother wouldn't be able to save him.

Beside Sam, Dean was also lost in thought. But unlike his brother, Dean was thinking about all the people gathered here today that might be dead now if they hadn't killed Crowley. For the past 6 years, saving people and hunting things had basically become the family business, hindered only occasionally by Sam and Dean's disabilities.

Being a hunter was a crappy job at best and it was only because Dean had cleaned up at a poker game the week before that they could afford the hotel instead of one of the usual craphole _motels_ they tended to frequent.

Focusing his attention as the speeches began, John couldn't help but feel more than a bit annoyed that the politicians weren't doing more praising of the firefighters, paramedics, and police that had been at Ground Zero 10 years ago. But as he looked at Sam and Dean, he noticed that they didn't seem to be bothered.

Even the people standing nearby that John recognized at having been at the Trade Center the morning of September 11th seemed only mildly put out. And as he thought about what these people had done—what his sons had done—John figured that it was like hunting. The people who knew what you'd done were the only ones that mattered.

Looking at the reflecting pools that had been set where the towers had been, John thought about all that had been lost 10 years ago. The loss of security that even other hunters felt as they realized that there was evil in the world that couldn't be stopped with silver, iron, or rock salt—enemies that _weren't_ supernatural.

But when John looked at his sons—Mary's sons—he saw that as much as there had been loss, there had also been something gained. He wouldn't trade the life he had with Sam and Dean for anything. And he understood now that what he did was more than hunting things—it was about saving people.

* * *

><p>In the back of the crowd, two angels stood, watching the Winchesters.<p>

"By the way, Castiel," Balthazar said with a smirk. "Next time, I get to pick which global crisis gets averted."

Castiel's expression was stoic as he asked, "What did you have in mind?"

"Funny you should ask," the other angel replied. "How do you feel about unsinking the _Titanic_?"


End file.
